


Five Kisses

by aerye



Category: due _south
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-14
Updated: 2009-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 04:36:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerye/pseuds/aerye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Prompt from mergatrude:</b> <i>And I want kisses. If I may quote myself: "Kisses full of guilt, blame, shame, regret, failure. Kisses of acceptance. Desperate kisses. Sweet domesticity. Shamelessly uncontrolled kisses."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Kisses

**First Kiss.**

Kowalski props his feet up on the coffee table and Ray opens his mouth to tell him to take his crappy boots off of his furniture, but Kowalski holds up his hand and points to the cell phone against his ear. Ray sighs. He doesn't know what this thing is between them, other than sex—surprisingly hot sex, he admits, for a formerly straight Italian guy with no interest in other guys' dicks—but he's pretty sure whatever it is it doesn't give Kowalski the right to put his boots on Ray's coffee table.

"The dumplings," Kowalski is saying, and then he looks up at Ray. "Pork or veggie?" he asks.

Ray rolls his eyes. Right. Because him and veggies are like this.

"Pork," Kowalski says back into the phone. He looks at Ray again. "Steamed or fried?"

"Steamed," he answers, kicking one of Kowalski's boots pointedly. "Extra sauce."

"Steamed. And can we get extra sauce?" Kowalski gives him a quick grin but doesn't move his feet. "Cool. Okay, one order of the Kung Pao chicken—" He stops and listens, and then looks at Ray again. "Hot?"

"It's _supposed_ to be hot," Ray points out.

"Well, they want to know if you want it hotter. Like, do you care if you still have skin on the roof of your mouth when you're finished eating?"

"Just regular hot. And take your goddamn boots off my furniture."

"He says regular hot. What?" He looks at Ray. "Fried or steamed rice?"

"Fried. Kowalski—"

“Fried. And an order of Moo Shu Pork—what? It comes with rice and wraps? Okay, steamed. And an order of the Mongolian Beef. Extra hot,” he adds, with a sidelong glance at Ray.

"And extra egg rolls," Ray says. He goes to pick up Kowalski's feet and move them to the floor but Kowalski grabs his hand when he gets close, wrapping his fingers around Ray's, and he holds on tight when Ray tries to yank away.

"Extra egg rolls," Kowalski says into the phone, winking at Ray, and there's a gleam in his eyes that Ray doesn't recognize, but it makes him nervous. Kind of nervous but kinda something else too, and he tries to look away but he can't. "Sure, whatever, bring on the sweet and sour sauce. Twenty-seven fifty? Naw, we'll pay cash. Right." He closes up his phone. "Thirty minutes. What should we do until the food gets here?" He's still holding onto Ray's hand.

"_You_ can get your goddamn dirty boots—"

Kowalski tugs hard and pulls him down on the sofa. "Jesus, chill, Vecchio," he says. "You'll hurt something important." And then he kisses him.

They're still kissing when the delivery guy rings the bell.

 

**Make-up Kiss.**

"I didn't know we were exclusive." It pisses him off that Kowalski doesn't sound the least bit defensive.

Ray is finishing up the dishes, washing the glasses, keeping his eyes on the sink full of warm, sudsy water and being careful not to look anywhere that might turn out to be in Kowalski's direction.

"We're not exclusive," he says, trying to sound nonchalant. He still feels a bit numb. He'd seen her, small, short and blonde, before he turned and left them and the bar behind. Can't say Kowalski didn't have a type, at least not with women.

"Then why are you mad?" Kowalski asks, and now he sounds amused and vaguely triumphant, and Ray suddenly hates him in a wave of fury so strong it almost blinds him.

"I'm not mad," he says, clenching his jaw tight. He's run out of dishes so he starts wiping down the counters. There's still dried gravy from when Kowalski cooked earlier in the week and he pretends to gives each stain his full concentration.

"You look mad."

"I'm not mad, Kowalski," he snaps. He doesn't know what he is. "I was maybe surprised, is all," he says, appalled at hearing the words come out of his mouth. He tries to regain some ground. "It's not that big a deal." He hopes he sounds indifferent.

"Uh-huh." Kowalski's trying to catch his eye and he knows if he lets him he'll be nailed to the wall like a bug under a pin, and so he turns away to start stacking the dried plates in the cabinet. "No big deal, huh?"

"No. What—you think this is true love or something, Kowalski? You got your life; I got mine." And now he's got enough control to turn and look at Kowalski, shrugging like he's got all the time in the world to chat about it. "So we fuck around every once in a while—it's no big deal. Like scratching an itch."

And suddenly it's Kowalski strung tight as a bow, his jaw working around words that aren't making it out of his mouth, and then he's across the kitchen before Ray can even draw a breath, getting into Ray's space and shoving him up against the refrigerator. Ray feels the Cubs magnet digging into his left shoulder blade and Kowalski's eyes are blazing, bright and furious.

"Fuck you. Just fuck you, Vecchio. You think this an itch? You think this is just _a goddamn itch_?" he demands and then he's kissing Ray, his hands on either side of his face and forcing his way in with his tongue, and Ray grabs him by the shoulders and hangs on, hangs on tight, and something inside him starts singing with joy.

 

**Desperate Kiss.**

"Fuck." Kowalski's voice is hoarse and strained and he rears up under Ray, struggling to his knees and pressing back against him, settling Ray's dick deeper inside him. He lets out a satisfied moan and starts to ride him, shoving his ass down in a frantic rhythm, staccato and needy.

"Jesus, Kowalski." Ray feels a surge of lust roll through him like a wave of fire and he tightens his hands on Kowalski's hips, pulling him back even as he pushes forward into all that tight heat. Kowalski gasps and clenches around him, and Ray can see it, see the way the muscles in his ass tighten and the way his hole spasms around Ray's dick. He feels a growl rising up from deep in his belly and he reaches out, seizing a handful of Kowalski's hair, and drags him up higher, so that he's straddling Ray's thighs, and Kowalski moans and arches his neck, dragging his rough cheek across Ray's shoulder, neck, cheek, against his face, and Ray opens his mouth and they're kissing.

**Goodbye Kiss.**

Kowalski says it's just lunch. He's just gonna have lunch with Fraser and catch up, he says. After all, he was with the guy for two years, and even if things didn't work out the way they wanted, they're still friends—or trying, he says, when Ray opens his mouth to object—and that means when Fraser comes to town they should have lunch. Okay, yeah, so Fraser hasn't been to town since they broke up, yeah—he concedes that point to Ray—but still, it's the principle of the thing, and besides, isn't Vecchio the one always saying he should make up with Fraser and they have to start someplace, right?

It hurts to breathe, watching Kowalski pick a shirt to wear and pretending like he isn't paying much attention to the decision. If Ray had any guts, or any sense, or any pride, come to think of it, he'd go into the other room and spare himself the sight.

"The blue one," he says, leaning back against the windowsill and staring at Kowalski's reflection in the mirror, because it seems marginally easier than looking at Kowalski himself. "The blue one looks good on you." Ray bought him the blue shirt—expensive and made out of thin, soft linen—and Kowalski loves it, even though he calls it his "faggoty" shirt.

"I'm not—" Kowalski falls silent, and Ray wonders how he would have finished the sentence: "I'm not in love with Fraser anymore." "I'm not in love with you." "I'm not leaving." "I'm not coming back."

"I got some calls to make," he says, and leaves the bedroom. He makes up a couple of people to call—Ma, his mechanic—just so Kowalski doesn't think he was lying, or doesn't have a whole other life apart from him that will on just fine when Kowalski is gone.

"Okay, I'm gone," Kowalski says. He's dressed and ready to go—wearing the blue shirt, and a ratty pair of jeans Ray's been after him for months to burn. He has on his leather jacket, and his boots, and Ray thinks briefly of asking him not to go, but then he doesn't want Kowalski's last memory of him to be like that. He nods.

"You want anything while I'm out?" Kowalski asks, turning again at the door.

A dozen things pop into his head, each one more embarrassing than the last. He turns away. "We're out of soap for the dishwasher."

He hears Kowalski open the door but it doesn't shut again. Then he feels Kowalski's hand on his shoulder, turning him around, and Kowalski is kissing him, hard and messy and real. "Christ, I'm coming back, you asshole," he says, and Ray watches his wet lips form the words, like he's deaf like Dief or something, and can't actually hear them.

 

**Happily Ever After Kiss.**

"They didn't have that brand you usually buy," Kowalski says from the doorway. "And yeah, I asked the busboy guy if there was any in the back, so don't give me any shit—he said this was just as good as the other one and it's just fucking dish soap anyway—"

Ray kisses him before the door has a chance to close.


End file.
